


Judas

by cmcross



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 14:16:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmcross/pseuds/cmcross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wants to crawl inside Mycroft, latch on to the man's soul like a parasite, and never let go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Judas

"Tell me why," John demands, and Mycroft would answer, truly, if not for the gun pressed to the underside of his chin. He swallows thickly, his Addams apple bobbing up and down, and tries to breathe normally.

He reaches up and presses his fingers against the barrel of the gun, aiming it up and to the right, towards the ceiling where its bullets can do little damage.

Mycroft was not a man who felt the sharp sting of guilt on a regular basis. Panic? On occasion. Rage? Frequently, though usually directed at his brother. But guilt? No. He'd buried the feeling long ago. It was hardly conducive to a good night's sleep.

"You might as well have thrown him off that building yourself," John says. "I hate you. I _**hate**_ you. I'll hate you till I die."

He inclines his head. "I am aware of that."

It sounds cold and harsh, even to his own ears. The words float from his mouth, loop round the room, and return to him; burying themselves in his heart, never to leave him. With every heartbeat they whisper 'Traitor, traitor, traitor.'

His head snaps to the side and his face is on fire. He has little time to react, however, as two hands clasp the sides of his face and a pair of chapped lips meets his own.

John wants to crawl inside Mycroft, latch on to the man's soul like a parasite, and never let go.

He settles for fucking him into his overpriced mattress.

It's the closest he'll ever be to Sherlock again, but it does little to fill the gaping hole in his chest. Mycroft isn't the Holmes he wants, not really, but he's the only one left and John clings to him like a sinner clings to a rosary in church.

When it's over, when he pulls his trousers back on and Mycroft slips a robe on over his shoulders, he can barely bring himself to look the man in the eye.

"Why did he have to die?" he tries to sound strong, tries not to beg for answers, and fails miserably. He bows his head and looks at the floor.

"Because the needs of many outweigh the needs of a few."

John is sure his heart is going to stop. "He was my friend."

"He was my brother."

John pulls his gaze away from the oriental carpet. Mycroft stands in front of him and John flinches and jerks away when he presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He hates himself for wanting that kiss, for needing it, for the fever in his blood that begs for it, for just a taste of that other worldly essence that is a Holmes.

"Judas!" he spits out.

"Oh, but John, you kissed me first."


End file.
